Go Karts Sunday July 11, 2010

I slept very fitfully last night and when I did sleep, I had nightmares. Shivers go down my spine when I think about the events of yesterday, which I hasten to add were all of my own making and nothing to do with the security of living here.

On Friday it was Charles’s 18th birthday and for a treat, we suggested that we take him Go–Karting. We had done this in the States and Steve recalled doing something similar in the UK. In the States, Charles did it when he was about 14 or 15 years of age, so I didn’t give it a second thought about allowing Emma to participate in her brother’s fun day out.

So it was booked and we headed off. It has always been our intention that I would back out at the last minute and Marcelo would be able to take my place. He was I think quite genuinely surprised and pleased to be included.

I started having misgivings about Emma when I saw just how fast these Karts were going and how easy it was to lose control and spin off the track. The track was very long and had several quite long straights and even more hairpin bends than Silverstone. When we arrived, we watched a race that had only 6 participants so I thought at the very least, Emma could bimble around the track keep out of everyone’s way.

They went off and got kitted out in overalls, helmets, balaclavas and gloves. Emma was in a very fetching pink with the word “Dolly” written on the back. It wasn’t a joke, but rather the name of a local juice being advertised, but I guess they didn’t realize the significance of the translation because all the men’s suits had the same logo on them.

There were the usual waivers to be signed but as they were in Portuguese we had no idea what they were saying, although I could hazard a guess. They went off for briefing , again in Portuguese and it suddenly dawned on me that I was about to let my 15 year old hurtle round a track with a machine that it is claimed could reach 85 kilometers (53 miles) per hour, wearing nothing but a canvas suit and helmet for protection.

I should have called a halt there and then, especially when I saw that instead of 6 drivers there were 21 for their race. I also saw that

a. Emma was the only girl present
b. She was clearly one of the youngest
c. At least 12 of the other drivers were kitted out in professional looking leather overalls with their own helmets, gloves and special shoes. This was something they did regularly and with serious intent.

I quickly came to the conclusion that this wasn’t going to be a nice gentle trip in a go-kart. This race was going to be Formula 1 with testosterone.

The idea was that there would be two or three warm up laps, during which time each driver would post a lap time to determine who got pole position on the grid.

Emma, bless her, managed to hit a pole in the pit lane, stall her engine and made it out of the pits by going over several concrete ramps rather than driving on the tarmac.

I was horrified when I saw the speed at which these men raced their karts. In front of me there was the end of the longest straight, followed by a very wide sweeping bend. I wasn’t at all concerned about Steve, Charles or Marcelo, I could only think about Emma and how absolutely stupid I was to even think that she could do it. She made it round this first bend, and the second but on the third, she flew straight up a bank and ended up hitting a tree. The boys and Marcelo came and went round twice more before I next saw Emma. She rounded the bend in front of me, but didn’t make it and hurtled off the track into (actually through) the tyre wall.

I screamed, and then I screamed again…….and then some more for good measure.

Fortunately, the marshals were stopping everyone to line them up for the start of the race proper. These remember were just the warm up laps. I couldn’t get onto the track because of the barriers but I leant over and I screamed at Steve to get her out, I screamed at Marcelo to tell the marshals to get her out and I screamed at every marshal I could see to get her out. My next plan was to jump the barrier and drag her out myself. Fortunately it wasn’t necessary.

Emma was fine, pride a bit dented but none the worse for wear. It turned out that her brakes were pretty suspect and in the two laps that she did manage, as well as the post, the tree and the tyre wall, she was also hit by another driver and, at a different bend, ended up spinning. Steve also saw her sitting majestically in her kart in a location which no one has ever been before.

She was glad that she had tried, but her biggest disappointment of the day was that there was no photographic evidence of the crash to post on Face Book. Teenagers have weird priorities these days. I was terrified for her, but she thought it was cool.